


Breathe, Hope

by posingasme



Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - Victor Hugo, Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Bounty Hunters, Creature Sam Winchester, Gen, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, M/M, Monster Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beneath New Orleans, in a labyrinth of catacombs, there lives a boy who can never be seen, cared for by a devoted brother. Above, a failed poet hunts for a father who has stolen his own children from their rightful guardian, and is rumored to have gone to ground in desperation. </p><p>With great apologies to Victor Hugo, this story blends the characters and circumstances of the tragedy of Notre Dame, and paints them across an alternate universe inhabited by the unbreakable Winchesters, and none of it survives intact. You know the classic. You know the show. But don't assume you know the story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catacombs

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by-who else?-Nonny Mouse, prompted through Tumblr. Hope sweet Nonny doesn't mind a little Hugo in her Free Will.

To say that the creature in the catacombs was lonely would be both entirely true and, at the same time, not at all correct. Equally at odds was the fact that he was endlessly busy, and completely beleaguered by boredom. He was pale, as one might expect of someone who had not seen sunlight in over a decade, and yet his skin insisted upon a red hue, in the most unnatural of ways. He wasn't a boy any longer, but nor had he grown to be a man.

John Clopin’s younger son was a monster, hidden from the world under a city that never sleeps.

It had been quite an oddity when the creature was young. His skin was not quite the right tone. His hair hid two disturbing nodes at the base of his skull. His eyes were strange, and seemed to change color by the light and the mood of the creature itself. But the thing's intelligence was obvious to anyone who could get past the overwhelming sense of fear long enough to talk to him. Sam seemed to exude tendrils of horror that gripped even strong men by the throat, without even meaning to. Just his presence struck most dumb with terror, even before he could be seen. And if that weren't enough to send anyone away in a hurry, finally getting a good look at the creature always did.

Between the ages of eight and ten, and then again from twelve to fourteen, Sam suffered through an excruciating and heartbreaking transformation. His father and brother watched in helpless grief as the boy they feared and loved all the same metamorphosed. The first changes, which seemed to peak around the thing's tenth birthday, had sealed their fate within the catacombs. Until then, John-who was still John Winchester at the time-yet hoped there was a chance at a normal life for his family, that one day they could go back to the surface and rejoin the world above. But every week made it more and more clear that this was their life now. The second round of changes, beginning around the twelfth year, was simply a kick to the throat, just in case any of them still harbored hope that this nightmare would one day fade.

The nodes were bone, and they grew and curled into horrible horns like those of a ram. They were the same reddish hue as his skin. His shoulders grew broad to carry that extra burden, and his chest expanded. Everything about him was powerful; everything was large and terrifying. But Sam remained Sam through all of it, and for Dean, that was really the worst part. After a very long day spent scavenging the surface, John had drunk too much and given Dean the only order he couldn't abide.

“I know you want to keep looking out for your brother, Dean. But there's gonna come a day when you have to do what's right. If you can't save him, you'll have to kill him. When this darkness growing in him takes over, and I pray it doesn't, you'll have to.”

Dean was the only human who seemed immune to the powerful aura that surrounded Sam. He had watched brutal men who worked for his father crumble under it. Only Dean could approach the creature without falling victim to fear. He was never quite sure what to think of that, but he was grateful for it.

“Hey,” he called today. “Brought you some things from topside.”

“Did you bring books?” The voice was entirely disembodied, echoing as it was down the darkest of passages to reach him.

“I got you a few. I don't...I don't know what they're about…”

“It doesn't matter,” Sam reminded him. His face appeared before Dean expected it to, and he startled. Sam didn't seem to notice, or maybe he was just used to the reaction. Either way, there was nothing but hunger in his little brother's eyes. “I don't care so long as they're books.”

Dean nodded. He knelt to open the backpack. “Here. Eat. I'll get some candles burning. You can't stay out of the light all day. It's not good for your eyes.” It wasn't good for Dean's deteriorating delusion that his brother was still somewhat human.

“It's better for my eyes,” Sam corrected quietly, as if he knew Dean didn't want to hear it. “It's easier to read without the light. But I know you need it. And candles are easier than the flashlights Dad and his guys bring. Fire isn't as harsh.”

Statements like that didn't do much for Dean's nerves either. But he continued unpacking. “Look. You like the classic stuff. So I got you crap that looked real old. There's Tolkien in there. And somebody called Hugo. I don't know. Looked like nerdy stuff you'd like.”

“Thank you,” Sam murmured.

In the candlelight, Dean could see the reverent way Sam looked at the offering, and guilt crept into his heart. “Look, man. I didn't really look too hard at it. If it's not something you like, just...I'll get you more in a few days. Right? Where's your trash? The maid service will be late, so give it to me to take up.”

Sam never got that joke. There were plenty of jokes Sam would never get. But he smiled anyway. “It's just a few things. Most of it could be buried in the plot of soil. But I'll get the rest, the plastic and such.”

“Give it to me. You can live like a rat, but you aren't going to live like a pig.”

The creature retrieved his inorganic waste, and shook his head. “Pigs are actually very clean animals. Did you know that? They actually ostracize any member of their community that isn't. If one is sick and can't take care of itself well enough, they'll kick it out of any shared space.”

“Fascinating, professor. I'll get you a pig, then.” He shoved Sam's small bag into the pocket of his backpack dedicated to that purpose, then pointed again at the food. “Dude, eat. I didn't bust my ass for you to starve.”

Sam bit into his apple thoughtfully, sitting beside Dean with a grace nothing of his size should possess. “I think that might be how I go one day.”

Dean frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Starvation. I mean...from all the research I've done, with all those books you've stolen for me, and some experimentation, both purposeful and accidental, I haven't found anything else that'll do it. But anything that eats can starve. And I eat.”

“Sam, stop. What the hell? You're researching to find ways to help you live better. Not to figure out what makes you die.”

His brother shrugged. “You know what makes you die?”

Dean stared at him. “I...I guess-”

“Everything,” Sam answered for him. “Everything in the world makes you die. Animals, vegetables and minerals. Every chemical element is toxic in one form or another, did you know that? Not to me. But to you. And every combination of atoms can be dangerous under the right circumstances. And none so commonly as water. Water, or the lack of it, or the corruption of it, is the most likely thing to kill you. Did you know that?”

Did you know that. It was Sam's favorite phrase. And no, Dean rarely knew the bits of trivia his brother churned out. Nor did he often want to know.

“Yet water is the most important thing for your survival. That and oxygen. That's important.”

“I'd say so. And cheeseburgers.”

Sam raised a red eyebrow. “Pretty sure that's not at the same level of importance.”

“Pretty sure it is,” Dean responded. He put his jacket on the ground and lay back on it.

“I have a couch.”

“You have a shitty couch,” Dean corrected without opening his eyes.

“It's better than the floor.”

“No. It really isn't. I keep meaning to get some bean bag chairs. I think that's just what this place needs. And a battery-operated lava lamp.”

“You wouldn't be able to touch lava, Dean. I don't even know why you'd want some.”

He snorted, but said no more.

They were quiet for a long time before Sam spoke again. “Dean? How old are we?”

The man shrugged. “You're seventeen, kiddo, almost eighteen. That makes me twenty-two.”

“And why aren't you gone?”

His eyes opened to find the shadows from the candles dancing along the passage walls. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you still coming here, taking care of me? Even Dad moved on.”

“Dad didn't move on, Sammy. He was arrested. There's a big difference. One ain't as voluntary as the other. He and several of his boys got caught carrying off a job. You know that.”

Sam nodded. “Did they find out his real name?”

“Not so far as I heard. We're safe for now. Nobody knows who we are.”

“Okay. But, Dean...If they find me, I want you to run. Okay? Just go. Live some apple pie life someplace. You know? In a house, with a real bed and all. Not like this. And don't let them catch you like they caught Dad.”

“I promise, Sammy. I'm gonna sleep now, then I'm going to get back to the top to do some business. Couple of guys need me to witness a deal between them, since Dad’s not here to do it.”

Sam smiled softly. “He's been gone for months, but they still consider him king of this court. Don't they?”

“Damn right too. Read some, eat some, but I gotta sleep.”

“Good night, Dean. Thank you for the books, and everything else.”

“Yeah. Night.”

The lies literally kept him awake at night. It broke his heart to lie to his brother. The truth was that no one knew where John was. Saying that he had been arrested was among the best of scenarios Dean could imagine. The point was that they were on their own, and Dean was the only one who could take care of his brother.

***

Sam watched over his brother while he slept. Sam didn't sleep, except when he was injured. There were times when he seemed to doze, but he never slept like Dean did. When he was much younger, he had panicked whenever Dean slept more than a few hours. John had awoken to find him checking Dean's breathing many times.

“People like Dean and me, we need more sleep than you, son.”

“But why? Is he hurt?”

John had chuckled to himself. “No, Sam. He's not hurt. He's a growing kid, and he needs as much sleep as he can get. You go on to your room now, and read or watch some television, and you'll see in a while he's just fine.”

That was back when Sam had a room. And a home, topside. But he never went further than the backyard, and he ached to see more. It was his own curiosity which had led him to his life underground. He was the one who had disobeyed his father's orders.

Thinking of it now, years later, still made him wince, especially while looking down at his brother lying on a stone ground in darkness. Sam had done this to him, through disobedience.

It was Mardi Gras. He had seen it on television, read every book he could find, but he wanted to see it for himself. Dean and some friends from school were going out for the first part of the night, and then they were coming back by curfew to camp in one of the guys’ backyards, so they could still hear the music and gaiety in the distance. They were just outside the city, and the festival floated to Sam's open window like a siren call. He had waited until Dean was scheduled to be back from the city, to avoid any chance that he would catch his little brother out where he shouldn't be. He should have known Dean wouldn't be in by curfew.

He had crept down the terrace ivies outside his window, and disappeared into the night. He didn't plan to participate, only to watch. He knew everything about the religious backdrop, but the excesses and sin seemed in complete opposition to those teachings. The only way to understand the Carnival before the Fast was to see it for himself. And if he were going to sneak out, he might as well go on the grandest night of all.

The first thing Sam learned that night was that masked jesters are terrifying.

He had seen them in books and on television, and had thought they were strange, but up close, they were horrific. He burst into a crowd, where he could hear the parade approaching. Years later, he could still remember what it felt like to be part of that crowd, the warmth, the smells, the laughter and movement of other people all around him. That should have been the part that scared him, but it was amazing. Sam watched the people in the crowd nearly as much as the groups of dancers and floats.

Then came the jesters. It was a krewe of men in costume, all surrounding a jester on horseback, who had a whip. Many in the crowd shouted up at him, “Le Capitaine!” as though they were expecting him. As he watched in horror, the Captain cracked the whip and struck the man nearest. The man screamed in a way that made Sam think of hysterical laughter, and the crowd jeered. Sam was horrified. The rest of the deafening din seemed to fade out, as the whip cracked like thunder, falling upon the man's shoulders again. He howled, and the crowd laughed.

Before the whip could fall a third time, Sam was pushing himself in front of the man, to spare him from the strike. There came a sharp sting on his own chest, but it was not nearly so intense as he had expected. Still, Sam often found his own pain tolerance to be higher than others’. He couldn't let them keep hurting this man. Why was no one in the crowd moving to stop this horrible display?

Chaos erupted around them. The parade split and stumbled around the krewe and Sam, who tried to protect the man who stared at him so strangely.

“You don't need to let them hurt you!” Sam insisted. “Here, we’ll run through there and get you safe!”

There was a moment of bewilderment before the man burst into laughter. “Kid, it's all an act! Just part of the fun! Like your mask!”

The jester on horseback leapt from his mount, and stalked irritably to the commotion. “What's the deal?” he demanded in a nasal voice that Sam felt certain would give him nightmares. “Little boy, move before you're trampled!”

Sam's mouth dropped, and he stared in complete, paralyzing terror at the jester.

“Hey! I said move, you freak!”

There were suddenly shouts all around him, and he was trembling with fear. The jester’s mask leered at him. People scattered through the parade route, nearly shoving him over.

“Whose kid is this?” the jester shouted. “Kid, take off the mask!”

“I don't...I don't have one on!” he cried out, and tears washed his face.

The jester stopped, and reached out his hand to touch Sam's face. The boy flinched away.

Just before the jester could touch him, a strong arm grabbed him from behind, and yanked him back. “Sammy!”

“Dean?” he shrieked desperately.

“Stop.”

The voice seemed to pierce through the thunderous noise around them. The boys and the jester turned to see where it came from.

There on the side of the parade route stood a woman, who wore a simple white dress which set her apart from all the green, gold and purple. The jester immediately backed away from Sam.

“You keep going. There's nothing more here.”

Those of the krewe who yet remained hurried to continue along their way as planned.

Sam and Dean turned to the woman in white.

“What is your name, child?”

Sam shook his head. “I'm so sorry!” he cried.

“Your name.”

“Sam Winchester.”

“Where are your parents?”

Dean cleared his throat. “He's with me. I-I lost him in the crowd, but he's...with me.”

The woman crooked her finger, and Sam was suddenly overwhelmed by the sense that obeying her was compulsory. He moved toward her, and she smiled at him. “Good boy,” she mouthed silently.

Sam sighed in relief. This woman had made the horrible jester stop. This woman thought he was good. She would make everything better. Why did Dean still look so worried?

They moved to an alley where, miraculously, there were no revelers. That by itself made Sam think this must be a woman of great importance, if a section of this city had been cleared of madness for her, perhaps by her.

“I am Eve Frollo,” she said at last.

Sam was still trembling terribly, but he managed a smile. “Sounds like an elf queen’s name.”

Dean stared at him.

But the woman smiled kindly. “I suppose it does. I'm an artist and collector. Where is your mother or father? Surely you two aren't out alone.”

“No, ma’am,” Dean said with a suspicious tone Sam didn't really think was warranted. “Our dad is…” Dean smiled suddenly. “He's Captain of a small krewe.”

“What's his name?”

“John Winchester, ma’am.”

Eve smiled and nodded. Then she reached down to touch Sam's face.

Dean leapt in front of his brother. “Hey! Don't. He's...Leave him alone.”

“Dean, it's okay.” Sam stepped around him. He stared up at this woman. “Dean, she's not scared of me.” The awe was written into his voice, splashed with hope.

Eve’s soft hand brushed his cheek softly. “Oh, but, sweetheart, I am. You are a gorgeous, perfect monster, aren't you?”

Sam felt as though he had been whipped in the face this time. Out of the corner of his periphery, he could see that Dean’s mouth was open. “I'm…”

The kindness in her eyes completely contrasted her words. It was like the jester’s smile hiding malice behind the mask. “Sweet little thing. You're the most horrid little grotesque.”

Dean was frowning now. “What are you…?”

But Sam knew the word. His eyes lowered as they filled with tears. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured. He understood now. She was kind, a saint, maybe. Everything she said was so. She didn't say it to hurt him, only just as point of fact. Suddenly, though he wasn't certain why, he felt a cloud of shame fill his chest. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered.

But she knelt next to him and looked up into his eyes, and smiled. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen in his life.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Dean said in a shaky voice. He did not seem to know if he needed to protect Sam or not.

The lady in white ignored him, and took Sam's hands. When she spoke, Sam knew Dean couldn't hear. “Did you know, sweet little monster, that what we look like on the outside reflects the state of our souls on the inside? It's true. I'm an artist, and I've studied it all my life. Outward beauty is a sure sign of a good soul. Wickedness bleeds out of you. The most hideous bodies contain the darkest, most tainted of souls. If good people fear you, it is because they know you are wicked, little monster.”

“What are you telling him?” Dean yanked Sam's hand away. “Sam? We have to go.”

Eve winked. “Don't forget, Sam Winchester,” she called after him as Dean pulled him toward home.

And when John came home from cutting purses and gambling and picking pockets with his men, Dean had told him the story as well as he could. John had been angry with Sam for sneaking away. But he had not shouted. He had simply pointed to a bag and told Dean to pack it. “If it will fit in a backpack you can have it. Otherwise, it gets left behind. This place isn't safe now. One bag each. We leave tomorrow night.” It was the last night Sam had slept above ground, and it was spent weeping apologies to a stoic brother who told him it wasn't his fault.

Sam hated that his tears fell in front of Dean, and in front of her. That beautiful, wise young elf queen, he didn't want her to see him cry. She with the kindest of hearts, who saved little monster boys and spoke gently to them. She with the purest of souls…

On nights like this, when he sat in his sanctuary and watched over his steadfast big brother, he thought about Eve, and he wished he had thought to thank her.

***

Jehan Uriel looked out at the city park with disgust. “Filthy,” he spat.

His partner startled a little. He closed his notebook, into which he was recording what quiet doggerel came into his mind while looking at the green space. “What is?” he asked.

“The whole city. Full of dancing monkeys waiting for the next tourists to come through. New Orleans. So much glory for a city that doesn't live up to its reputation.”

Castiel Pierre raised an eyebrow. “That's blasphemy, Uriel. I grew up around here.” His accent was slighter than most New Orleans natives’, but it was there, and he made no effort to hide it. “It's a masterpiece.”

Uriel snorted. “If you say so. Come on. She said we should be able to find where Winchester stashed his kids if we question some of the local wildlife.”

“Don't call them that, Uriel. Please.”

He shrugged carelessly. “The best and the most colorful of the underworld. Is that better?”

Castiel smiled, but not at his partner. “I don't condone crime, Uriel. I just like to treat criminals as humans.”

Uriel began to laugh. “You're in the wrong kind of work for that, bounty hunter. Let's go. Winchester ain't going to catch himself.”

He stood, took one last look out at the park, and turned to follow. It was his job, after all, to catch men like John Winchester, who kidnapped their kids when custody was taken from them. Saving children from their own fathers. There was something dreadfully poetic about that, and if he weren't such a dreadful poet, he might write about it. As it was, Castiel Pierre played the role he was given instead, that of hunter.


	2. Desiderata

When Dean wasn't about, the creature had things to keep him busy. He read everything Dean brought him, over and over. It was his greatest pleasure. He wandered the catacombs in pitch darkness, and this past year, he had begun maintaining the infrastructure. This place was not made for him. It was a place for saints. But it was his home, and when he realized no one else still used the space, he let it fall on his own broad shoulders to become the custodian of the catacombs. He hoped the saints didn't mind his company. Surely they knew he meant no harm, in spite of his inherent wickedness. He repaired walls and improved them as well as he could, and with utmost respect and sincerity.

The creature's nest was in a depressed chamber, which someone without his grace might find difficult to negotiate. There, Sam kept his belongings, his most beloved books, his few photographs, his brushes and paints. He did not bother with the brushes any longer, but kept them because they were a gift from his brother, and that made them sacred.

He kept a plot of soil for waste and one for compost. He had researched how to do that as one of his first tasks upon coming to live underground. These patches of earth were far from his living space, and he had experimented in growing various edible roots ever since the cave-in a few years ago had trapped his father out and his brother in until they could move things. It had occurred to him then that he should have some way to feed Dean or John for the span of a day or two if necessary. And himself, of course. Now he had learned to grow a few things that could be used in lean times, and he was proud of that.

Sam kept himself busy.

What little he knew about what his father and brother did worried him. He understood that they were thieves. John had men of all sorts who came to work for him or with him, and now they looked to Dean. Sam wasn't certain, but he thought the men were mostly pickpockets and cutpurses, that they simply took excess and spread it more evenly among the lower classes. Like Robin Hood, Sam had decided, after Dean had brought him that one. As far as he knew, threatening someone was the most violence inflicted by anyone associated with John. Except in self-defense, perhaps, to avoid being caught by the evil lawmen.

John had been arrested, Dean had said. That meant they had tortured him and maybe even killed him. That's what the lawmen did. Sam had read stories of kind and just policemen, but he knew those in this city were different. John had run from them, had hidden Dean and Sam from them for years, and had trained the boys to defend themselves if ever they came around to catch them. Dean said he didn't think they would bother trying to take Sam alive. His aura of fear would prevent them from getting close, and so they would simply shoot him. Sam didn't think that would kill him, but it sounded quite excruciating, and so he wanted to avoid it, and he certainly was not going to let them take Dean. If only he had been with John when he and his men were caught. Sam had strength even his father didn't know about, and he would use it to defend his family. They were all that mattered.

Dean brought alcohol with him tonight when he came. It bothered Sam's nose, but he was pleased to see him anyway. He had thought it would be another day or two before Dean was able to get back.

“You're here,” Sam sighed happily.

The older man shrugged. “Light a candle or something, Sammy. Black as pitch down here.”

Sam hurried to do as he was bid. “You always find your way in the dark. I can find my way in the light if I have to.”

Dean was watching him as the candles flared to life. “What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly.

The creature looked up. “What?”

“Finding your way in the light. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam shook his head. “I just mean....Dean, my eyes aren’t like yours. It’s easier for me to be in darkness. But I know you prefer the light, so I’m happy to find my way in it for you.”

Dean was silent for a long while, simply staring at him in a way that made Sam uneasy, but which also made Sam think he shouldn’t interrupt his thoughts. Finally, Dean nodded and looked away. “Yeah. Well, I brought you another book, in case that Hugo stuff wasn’t any good.” He pulled a thin volume from his messenger bag, and handed it over. “You sure you don’t want me to bring down a portable DVD player or something? You used to like watching movies.”

He turned the book over in his hands. “No,” he responded absently. “No, it hurts my-”

“Eyes. Yeah. I know.” Dean heaved a sigh. “I just hate that you’re bored down here.”

Sam smiled softly. “Bored isn’t the right word. So,” he continued before Dean could press him further, “what have you been doing? Any word about Dad?”

Dean shook his head and lay back on the floor atop his jacket, as he always did. Sam didn’t bother telling time down here, but Dean always seemed tired when he came. Maybe it was the darkness, and the dance of the candles and shadows. “No. I’m doing what I can to find him, Sammy. You gotta know that. But I can’t risk someone finding me, and then finding you.”

“Of course,” Sam answered.

“He’ll leave us a message if he can. We know what to do. He’s trained us.”

“I hope we don’t have to leave,” Sam murmured.

Dean turned to look at him in that same odd way. “You ever want to? ‘Cause I gotta say, man, this would be the time for it. You know? Leave a message for Dad if he makes it back, tell him where to find us. Just go, you know?”

A hollow guilt choked him, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Or maybe you should just go. I’m as happy here as I’m going to be anywhere, Dean. This is it for me. It doesn’t have to be for you.” His heart screamed from within that Dean was all he had, that it was suicide to push him away. But he silenced those thoughts with another. “I want you to be happy, Dean.”

“I’m happy, Sam,” he sighed. “I can’t leave without you; you know that. I just gotta find Dad, make us a family again.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Dean?”

“What?”

He could see the flush of guilt over the man’s freckles. “Dean? You said he was arrested.”

The man sat up fitfully, and tossed the jacket aside. “I said...I said I thought he was arrested.”

Dread filled Sam’s stomach now. “You don’t know.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know.”

“So maybe he’s fine?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Maybe he's fine. Who knows?” The flask came out then, and Sam stepped back from the scent. Dean capped it quickly. “Sorry. I forget you can smell it.”

“I don't mind,” he lied. “But let's talk about something else.”

Green eyes flashed toward him in the candlelight, but they lowered again quickly. “Yeah, uh…I was thinking. I don't know what you, um…” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Anyway, it occurred to me today when I was...visiting a friend...that you, uh…”

Sam tilted his head and raised a red eyebrow. “I what?”

“That you...you know.”

He took a deep breath. “Dean, are you-are you trying to...say something? Or-or ask something?”

“I was…” Dean was rolling his eyes now. “I was visiting a woman, Sam. Someone I, you know, visit.”

“A friend, you said.” Sam couldn't be sure, but he suspected Dean might be drunk. “So?”

“A woman. Sam, a…” Dean threw his hands up and lay back down on his jacket with a huff of frustration. “Nevermind!”

Sam frowned at him. “Dean, are you talking about copulation?”

Dean whirled on him. “Cop...No! Dammit, Sam, I'm talking about sex!”

The creature’s lips parted, but he closed them quickly. When Dean got inexplicably nervous, it was best not to correct him.

The man’s face was flushed at least as red as Sam’s natural hue. “Look, I just thought, you know, Sammy’s never been with a girl, and I just-I don't know-wondered if you wished you had! That's all!”

The way he spoke gave Sam the odd feeling Dean was talking to himself. So he waited a moment to be sure he was finished before responding. “I don't.”

“Don't what?” The voice was getting louder now, and Dean cringed when it echoed back at him.

“I don't wish I had been with a girl.”

This seemed to stun his brother. He nodded once, and said, “Oh,” but Sam didn't feel as though either of them had actually communicated anything in this conversation.

So he tried to explain further. “I suppose I would be lying if I said I never wondered about it.”

Dean nodded again, but this time, it seemed as though he were encouraging Sam to give more. “Yeah?”

“And I suppose I'm equipped for-”

“Whoa.” Dean put his hand up. “Whoa. I don't need to hear about your equipment.”

Sam narrowed his gaze at him. “Really?” he said dryly. “Because you once asked if I were proportional after you'd been drinking.”

The green eyes widened. “What?” he said shrilly. “What? You-you made that up!”

“No,” he answered. “You said you didn't want to see, but you wanted to know. And when I said I didn't have anything to reference, you promised to get me some human anatomy books. You forgot.”

“Of course I forgot! A man gets drunk enough to ask about his brother’s junk, you think he's going to remember to raid a bookstore in the morning?”

“You also asked-”

“Do I need to know what I asked? Jesus, Sammy! You're a weird guy! I can't help wondering…” He sighed, and an earnestness returned to his tone. “I can't help wondering if there's anything we still have in common. I can't help wondering…”

“If I'm a little bit human.” Sam said it quietly, his eyes lowered to gaze at his own strong, red hands.

Dean’s silence was his confirmation.

He swallowed. “I don't know what I am, Dean. But...but I'm still your brother.”

“Hey.” Dean lifted himself to move toward Sam, to sit beside him and put his arm around him. “Hey. You'll always be that. Okay? I don't care how different we are. That's still the most important thing. And I care about you. Is it so strange that I wonder about weird stuff like anatomy? I mean...be honest, dude. There aren't a whole lot of guys with horns out there. How the hell am I supposed to know what you do and don't have? I haven't even seen you in real light in years. For all I know, you're part lizard now.”

“Screw you. I'm a mammal.”

Dean laughed, and tension between them seemed to evaporate. “I was hoping for a dinosaur brother. That would be awesome.”

“Do I feel like I've got feathers?”

“Dinosaurs don't-”

“Clopin!”

Each of them startled at the call. Sam cringed and backed away, even as Dean went stiff and rushed forward. “Benny? That you, man?”

“Better get up here, chief,” the other man called down the passages. Sam estimated how far he was, and determined that Benny was probably just beyond his aura of fear. Benny knew better than to come closer, but he often came as close as he could. Most of John’s men-Dean’s now-would not dare come into the catacombs at all.

There was no need to keep guard over the entrance. The aura guarded Sam well enough from anyone stumbling onto the entrance. Curiosity was not enough to make braving the supernatural terror worth it. But sometimes Benny or another of Dean’s men crept in just to the edge. Sam wondered if it was a way of testing their courage, by getting as close to the creature as they could. He found that thought infuriating, and even humiliating.

“Why? What's going on?” Dean was already hurrying toward topside, and Sam sighed with disappointment. It wasn't often he and Dean actually talked. Uncomfortable or not, he would have liked to continue.

“Questions,” Benny said, quieter now. The echo carried his voice to Sam, and he wondered what that meant, and why he could hear Dean’s footsteps quicken.

Sam took Dean’s abandoned jacket and folded it neatly. He hoped he would return for it soon.

***

Castiel waited for the large men to back away from the door. He listened for Uriel’s baritone and their answering voices before he moved. The men had come up a staircase, and Castiel wanted to know where it led. The second man might have been young Dean Winchester, but he would let Uriel determine that. It wasn't John. Probably not Sam. The other man called him Clopin, which was interesting. It was an alias of Winchester himself, his mother’s maiden name. But even if it were Dean, that didn't tell them where to find John or Sam. And if their client was correct about John brainwashing his boys, Dean would never give up the other two. But a secret basement was an excellent place to start. If he got lucky, the other two would be there. If not, perhaps he would find a clue to their whereabouts below.

He could hear Uriel asking questions behind him, but he focused on the task at hand. The door lock was easily picked, and it lead to the stone stairs. It was pitch dark below, and cold, but Castiel didn't mind. Adrenaline was warming him now. He descended the stairs with his weapon at the ready, his ears guiding him more than his eyes. There was water dripping somewhere nearby. There was a strange smell, like lingering smoke, but not enough to identify where it was from. Not cigarette smoke. A candle perhaps?

After several minutes of wandering in the dark, Castiel realized there was an uneasy feeling in his gut, as though something were very wrong here. He was just about to turn back the way he had come, when his boot kicked something on the stone ground. He reached down to touch it, and dropped it immediately. It was a hot candle in a glass jar. It rolled away, making a great deal of noise on the stone. He flinched.

He sighed to himself, and shrugged. Nothing could survive in this place, he determined. Certainly not a pair of human boys and their deranged father.

Before he could turn, however, a voice spoke in the darkness, chilling him to the bone. “Who are you? How are you able to come so close?”

Castiel looked up just in time to see a pair of bright red eyes blinking down at him. His breath caught in his throat, and he ran, and didn't stop until he had emerged from the darkness.


	3. The Saints of Vodoun

The man who called himself Jehan was trying to back Benny into a wall. It would have been amusing to watch if Dean weren't so worried about Sam.

“Get off me,” Benny warned in a quiet, dangerous tone. “I ain't going nowhere. Ask your damn questions, but touch me again, and I'll rip your head off.”

“He will,” Dean confirmed. “Not saying I've seen him do it. But I've seen guys in his vicinity lose their heads. Hell of a mess. Just saying.”

Jehan snarled at them. “Cas?” he called over his shoulder.

There was no immediate answer, and Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Who-”

“We ain't hurting nobody,” Benny said quickly, far louder than was strictly necessary. “This here’s church property. We got a right to be here, same as anybody.” He smiled sweetly. “I got praying to do.”

Jehan shook his head. “Filthy monkeys. I don't care what you're doing here. I'm looking for a guy, a man, and I think you know who.”

A chill came over Dean, but he refused to let it show.

“What are your real names?”

“My real name is Benny Lafitte. And I'm really gonna kick your ass if you don't leave soon.”

The large man seemed to be eyeing up Dean’s friend, assessing whether the stone cold confidence was justified or not, when another man leapt out of the stairs. “Cas!”

“Uriel, there's something…”

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest. Benny kept his glare steady, but Dean could see his hand hovering near his weapon hidden under his coat.

“What?” Jehan-Uriel?-snapped.

The other man was breathing hard. “Something…”

“Castiel!” Jehan turned back to them. “Benny Lafitte. You want to tell me what's down there?”

Benny shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Saints, mostly.”

Dean’s lips quirked in a smile.

But the other man stepped forward. “What is your name?” he spat into Dean’s face.

A thousand thoughts skittered through his brain. But he smiled through his panic. “Esmer. Jack Esmer. You want to tell me what this is all about? I got rights, you know.”

The second man was still breathing shallowly. “Esmer? What the hell is down there?”

His partner turned to stare at him.

Benny cleared his throat. “I got some security down there. The priests don't want nobody climbing around where they don't belong, so they had me and my friend Jack rig up some tricks to keep folks out. Especially the ones whose imagination outweighs their courage. Effective, I see,” he taunted.

To Dean’s surprise, even Jehan snorted with amusement. He seemed to become a little less aggressive. “So you're hiding something down there, but it isn't a someone.”

“Someone?” Dean said with incredulity. “Like who?”

The second man was seething with quiet anger now, but the first spoke up. “We're told you might know a man called John.”

“I know a lot of guys named John.”

Benny nodded. “I know three that come up to the club in the District. Gotta throw them out every time they touch a girl.”

Dean nodded. “Ain't there a John out by the bar out past Charles?”

“Naw, I think that's a Jimmy.”

He shrugged.

Jehan smiled in a snarl. “John Clopin,” he specified.

Dean gave a snort, even as his chest was tightening. “Clopin? Sounds made up.”

Benny snickered.

“Maybe it is,” the man said, but he took a step back. “Most of the rest of the guy is fake. Coward too.”

Green eyes snapped up, and his expression went cold. “No,” he said firmly. “I don't know no John like that. You, Lafitte?”

“I surely don't.”

Jehan nodded curiously, then shrugged. “Okay. Let me leave you a card. You think of anything, you give me a call.”

But when he turned to leave, the other man was still watching Dean. “What's down there, Esmer?” he insisted in a low voice.

Dean stared boldly into his eyes. “It's a catacomb, man. Things down there can't always be explained. There ain't no place in this city more holy, and there ain't no place closer to the Devil. You believe in the Devil, buddy?”

Castiel nodded. His face was unreadable.

“Did you know he's an angel? Lucifer. He's an angel. They say there are sacred places demons can't go, but he can. They say he loves N’Orleans. He plays at every table, and he comes here to laugh at those who pray all day and sin all night. If you saw something down there...You just might want to ask yourself why he's showing himself to you.”

Dean watched the blue eyes widen.

“You're a local boy, ain't you?” Benny said softly.

Castiel looked from one to the other. “Yeah?”

“You know. Your partner, he don't get it, but you know. There's stuff in this place can't be explained. Why do you think the priests want us keeping an eye out? You think it's good business for a church if people find out they gotta have voodoo in those walls down there, fighting to ward off the Devil?”

“Voodoo?” he whispered.

“The saints,” Benny insisted quietly. “Catholic saints are a big part of Vodoun, man.”

Castiel let his mouth drop.

Jehan threw his hands up. “Cas! You coming?”

The man was breathing too shallowly, and he had to swallow a few times before responding. “No. Yeah, I'm coming.”

Benny smiled at him. “Might want to see a local who knows something about gris-gris for a satchel. If you're seeing the evil down there, it's the best protection you're going to get.”

Castiel nodded and backed out into the main part of the church after his partner.

His friend chuckled after him. “Wow. I love a native who’s heard a few too many stories growing up.”

But Dean wasn't laughing. “He saw him. Benny, he didn't just feel it. He saw him!”

The man shrugged. “So? Ain't nobody gonna believe him, and no way in hell he'd risk going back in. You see his face? Just the word voodoo was enough to convince him.”

He chewed on his lip, then nodded. “And the other guy?”

“That one? He steps close enough, and I'll take care of that one. Just let him come within a mile of this place. My boys will be watching him. Guy like that don't need to be anywhere near here. He's looking for your daddy, though, and I might like to know who's paying him to do it.”

Dean nodded again, and took a deep breath. “You get your boys tailing him. I gotta figure out how to get a warning to my dad. If they can't find him, that means the police don't have him. He must be running. I gotta get a message to him, let him know who's after him. And I gotta check on Sam.”

Benny smacked him on the arm. “You got it, brother. You need me, holler.”

“Thank you, Benny. And thanks for the voodoo nonsense.”

His eyebrows lifted, and a smile crept onto his face. “Nobody said anything about it being nonsense, Dean. You don't mess with spirits in this city, man. Some of the guys who play down at the club will tell you stories that'll put you off sleep for a week.”

Dean snorted. “Joke’s on you, old man. I've been off sleep for a week already.”

Benny gave him a sympathetic sigh. “I know it. But I'm serious. I'm convinced down to my bones that's what's happened with your brother.”

He had been turning toward the stairs, but now he looked back. “What?”

“I don't know, man. You listen to some of the guys…”

“You think my brother is the result of voodoo?”

His hands went up in defense. “I ain't saying...Look, Clopin. Your daddy had enemies. Plenty of them. I'm just saying, I think maybe there's a curse at fault. Maybe your daddy pissed off the wrong witch, that's all. I don't pretend to understand it. But you come down and talk to some of the musicians one day, and buy them a beer or two, and they'll tell you stories their grandmas told them, about things they can do or they seen done to somebody else.”

Dean shook his head. “Benny, you're a good friend. Best man I know. But you're wrong. Don't underestimate my little brother. He's no curse. He's a blessing. And it's my job to protect him.”

Benny conceded immediately. He knew better. “I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean no disrespect. I'll get to calling my boys about keeping an eye on those guys.”

“Thank you, Benny,” Dean said wearily. “I gotta get some rest, and hope I dream of some way to get word to my dad when I don't know where the hell he is.”

They went in separate directions, Benny toward the sanctuary, and Dean into the depths.

***

Castiel licked at his lips in concentration. He couldn't understand most of what the two men had said, but a few things were clear from his moment spent eavesdropping. That was Dean Winchester. He didn't know where his father was, but he was willing to protect him. And Sam, the child who had been stolen from his mother at just six months old, was down below.


	4. Return to Below

The creature was entirely rattled by the time his brother returned. He was pacing the length of his home, the nest he had built, with aching anxiety. 

“Sammy?” the familiar, husky voice called at last. 

He sighed with relief. “Dean.” Dean would make this all right. Dean was all right, and he would make the rest of this all right too. 

“Sammy.” His green eyes were flashing in fury. “You okay, little brother?”

The creature licked at his pale red lips and nodded. “Yeah. Just...yeah.”

“What happened down here?”

Sam was breathing too shallowly, and he worked on calming himself for a moment before responding. “He approached me, Dean. He...I think if he hadn't seen me, he could have stood as close as you ever have. Dean, I'm scared.”

A hand reached up to pat his cheek. It was odd the way Sam towered monstrously over this man, but yet his touch never failed to comfort him, to soothe his fear. “It's okay, buddy. Okay? He's gone now. Me and Benny took care of it. I told you. I ain't never going to let anything happen to you.”

“But he was looking for me, wasn't he?”

Dean hesitated. If it weren't Dean, Sam might have thought he was considering lying to him. But Dean never lied. The older man scrubbed his hand down his face, then shrugged. “No. He was looking for one of Dad’s guys.”

“Which one?”

He took a breath. “Uh, you remember Martin? Squirrelly kind of guy?”

“I remember Dad talking about him. He never was able to cross the threshold. I never saw him.”

Dean looked up and watched him. “Yeah. About that. This guy today, he crossed over? He walked right up to you? How?”

“I don't know,” Sam murmured. “No one but you and Dad could ever do that before.”

“He felt nothing?”

Sam thought back to the man’s frown. “No,” he said. “No, he felt something. It wasn't like with you. It was more like with Dad. He was uneasy. Not afraid, maybe, until he saw me. More like he was nervous.”

Dean stared. “Dad wasn't nervous!”

He lowered his eyes in thick shame. “He was always nervous, Dean. I made him feel sick. You must have noticed.”

A severe frown grew on Dean’s face. “No. Sammy, he just had a lot on his mind.”

“It was worse when I got angry. Anytime I felt anything strongly, in fact. He would start getting pale. Then before long, he would have to leave.”

Dean took another deep breath. “Sam, you didn't make Dad...He didn't feel sick because of you. He drank a lot, that's all. Smoked too. If he was pale, it was...probably just because he'd been drinking.”

Sam shook his head, but said nothing. 

“Anyway, this guy. You ever know anyone but me and Dad who could get that close?”

“No,” he murmured. “I always assumed it was because you're family.” His breath was shallow now. “The two at the Carnival. The jester and the woman in the white dress. But I was a child then. Even then, people could feel it, but it wasn't so strong until I was much older. After that...no one. Only you.”

His brother nodded thoughtfully. “Right. And Dad.”

He let it go with a sigh. 

“Well, it's okay now. I gotta get some sleep. Benny is having the men tracked and tailed, so no reason to be worried.”

Sam watched him. “Dean, I'm a little...I know you're fatigued. But could we talk a bit?”

The older man snorted. “Fatigued,” he repeated, the way he did when he thought Sam had used the wrong word for something, even though Sam knew it was correct. “Yeah, okay. I know you're shaken up, man. Don't worry about it.”

“I know. But I can't help it.”

“Right. Well, why don't you tell me about one of the books you're reading?”

Sam smiled brightly. He knew Dean was copping out, letting him ramble on happily so he didn't have to contribute, but he didn't mind. It was nice to talk about his books. He wished Dean would read some so they could talk about them together. To his credit, he had tried sometimes when they were younger, but Sam read so much faster and took so much more delight in it that Dean had given up before long, and Sam contented himself with a quiet audience of one as he retold stories and considered ideas. 

The man jolted to alertness when Sam cleared his throat some time later. “What?”

“I said get this.”

“Get what?” Dean demanded. 

Sam chewed on his lip. 

His brother sniffed and sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, dude. I passed out. Go on. I'm listening.”

“I was telling you about Heracles.”

“I think it's pronounced Hercules,” Dean yawned. 

Sam frowned. “Only if you're Roman.”

“What?”

“It doesn't matter. Look, I'm reading some classics you brought for me.”

“Right. The old stuff. Greek seemed pretty old.”

Annoyance was beginning to show on his face. “Dean, listen. I'm saying, I read something that sounded like...I want some information to do some research.”

He had Dean’s attention now. “Research. On you?”

“On Crete.”

“On...on what?”

“Crete. The monster of Crete.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with anger, and he stared. “Monster! Sam, you aren't-”

Sam clenched his teeth, then spoke through them. “I'm not what? Not a monster? Because we both know that's not true. My outward appearance, Dean, that's just the manifestation of what's inside. I'm tired of you pretending. Maybe you have to pretend, in order to keep doing this. Maybe pretending is how you deal with it. But there's something wicked in me. I'd just like to find out what to call it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dean snapped. “You want research? I'll get you research. Some monster from Greece. Fine. But you? Sam, you are not a monster. You are my brother!”

Sam’s eyes softened into a rose instead of the fiery crimson of his anger. “I know, Dean. And I appreciate that. You'll never know how much I appreciate that. But I'm something else too, and I want to know what.”

His brother ran his hand down his face wearily, then put his hands up in defeat. “All right. Whatever you want. What is it you're researching now?”

He licked his lips anxiously. “Asterius. The Minotaur of Crete.”


	5. Mère de tous

It wasn't a difficult thing to identify and lose his tails. They were good, but he was Castiel. He reversed his coat so that the darker side showed, as soon as he knew there were no eyes on him, and took a few unnecessary turns through the old city for good measure. A lifetime of being invisible to this infuriating, exhilarating sacred city made it simple to blend into it now.

The cathedral was a different story. That had taken a bit of cunning, but here he was, in the stairway again. He had waited for Dean-for he was certain who it was now-to creep out of the depths and into the night, to do whatever it was he and his father did. Castiel texted Uriel the young man's trajectory, then braced himself for his own descent.

Voodoo or no voodoo, he had a job to do, and his client was growing impatient.

It was unfortunate that Jehan Uriel was so heavy handed in everything he did. A little finesse and diplomacy might have gone much further with Lafitte and Winchester than backing them into walls and snarling at them. But threatening people was what Uriel liked about this job, so there was little expectation that would change. Technically, Castiel was supposed to be calling the shots, especially while on his home turf, but Uriel’s aggressive nature tended to make that arrangement moot.

Voodoo. Of course there was voodoo.

God, he loved this wicked city. And he couldn't wait to be out of it again.

As he cautiously descended into the guts of the cathedral, he thought of what this wretched, wonderful city had done to him over the years, the thousands of ways it had broken his heart, in so many inexpressible moments.

Inexpressible, because...Well, he was a dreadful poet, after all.

No, sadly, he knew what his talents limited him to. Writing verse, recording the romance of the world, to be read and admired by even a few, let alone generations, was his passion, not his talent. His skill set was best used for what he was doing right now. Breaking and entering, and creeping through the darkness after someone who didn't want to be found. Pulling people out of dark places like this one was what he did.

All the same, he wondered about Dean Winchester. Perhaps they could still save little Sammy, who would be sixteen-seventeen?-by now, get him to a proper home, with medical and psychological care he surely needed. But Dean...He was too old for any services like that. It was sad, considering how smart the man clearly was. Just a single conversation was enough to convince him the man could have been something if he hadn't been raised by a criminal. The most likely future for that one was an orange jumpsuit, probably beginning tonight, if his partner caught up with him.

Their orders were strange, and he didn't like them. He had agreed to the client’s terms, but he already didn't think he would be taking any other job like this one. Castiel didn't like going into a job without a clear understanding of who the client was, who the bad guy was, and who the victim was. He also didn't like the way the woman had dismissed Dean Winchester as “the one who will lead you to Sam, and the one you'll need to get out of the way as soon as possible.” That had not sat well with Castiel somehow. He was less bothered but made more wary by the directive that he and Uriel should “use John Winchester if he will be of use, kill him if he needs to be killed.”

“I don't kill anyone,” Castiel corrected quickly. “I'm a hunter-”

“Not a lover,” Eve Frollo had sighed. “Yes. That's apparent.”

Uriel had begun to laugh, lifting his wine to his lips.

Castiel had ignored him. “I don't kill anyone,” he repeated.

“You carry a weapon.”

“Defense,” he said flatly.

“His prattling is enough to keep most people away.”

Castiel ground his teeth. “Jehan, this is not productive.”

The lovely woman smiled at him. “John Winchester is a very bad man,” she reminded him. “Should you need to defend yourself against him, I don't think anyone would blame you.”

Uriel snorted inelegantly.

The figure behind her spoke at last. “You've been given your orders.”

Castiel did not like Roman Charmolue. He rubbed him the wrong way every time their eyes met. “I've been given a job proposal,” he stated cooly. “I have agreed to nothing, and I don't take orders like a servant.”

“You'll take her orders,” Roman snapped back.

Eve smiled sweetly. It disgusted Castiel the way she and Roman both smiled all the time, even though they clearly had no understanding of what that expression was meant to convey, since they used it more as a weapon than a pleasantry.

Or perhaps, like Uriel, it was just a matter of them finding a cruel humor in the entire rest of the world.

“You'll find me more than generous. I just want to help that poor boy.”

Castiel had nodded slowly. “Yes, well...you said he was afflicted with a sort of…disfigurement.”

“Yes,” Roman confirmed. “Unfortunately, he has a skeletal deformity.”

“Like...a hunch?”

Eve continued to smile. “Oh, it's far more distinctive. I think you'll notice when you see him. His mother is such a dear friend of mine, and I feel an obligation to see that he is found.”

“Mary Winchester,” Uriel supplied.

She blinked at him, then nodded. “Yes. Poor, poor Mary. It's an evil man who can set a fire to a woman's home in order to steal her children. And then, for it to turn out to be her estranged husband, the father of the boys...Well, when I heard John Winchester had been spotted in New Orleans, I just knew I had to do everything I could to help that poor baby.”

Castiel agreed with that, certainly, but he couldn't help wondering, “But not Dean.”

“He's just too old to save,” she sighed. “It's heartbreaking, isn't it? But Sam I can still help. Mary lost her chance to be his mother the night of the arson. But if the boy is still alive, I can be a mother to him. Don't they call me Mother at the hospital, Ro?”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Mother to all, they call her.”

“I do a great deal of volunteering at the local hospital, you know.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “If John Winchester and his sons are still alive and together, we will find them,” he decided. “Jehan will make his priority the arrest of John Winchester, and...and Dean as well. We will let the justice system take it from there. And I will let you know where to find Sam, so you can get him the care he needs.”

“That's all I ask,” Eve purred.

So here he was. Between Uriel and the police, they would get information out of Dean to help find his father or set a trap for him. It was Castiel's job to find Sam, and no voodoo or instinct to turn back was going to keep him away.

This time, he knew it was all some voodoo illusion or a trick Lafitte had created. There was a boy down here, one who might need medical attention, and he intended to save him, whether he wanted to be saved or not.


	6. Première vue

Sam was dozing. Yesterday had shaken him badly, and he truly slept for the first time in many weeks. But his ears pricked, and a strange scent curled through the air. Fear. He blinked, and uncurled from his nest to stand with silent grace. Someone was near. Someone had descended into the catacombs. Someone not John or Dean.

His heart began to pound in his broad chest. With a growing terror, he crept along the walls to watch. He loathed the idea of someone finding his nest. It was his only space. Just the thought made his nostrils flare in anger.

The rippling wave of emotion made the trespasser gasp, and gave away his location. Sam concentrated on that aggression, that territoriality, let it flow from him in a cascade down every corridor, flooding the area around him.

A very deep voice came hissing toward him in a tight whisper through clenched teeth.

Sam startled as he listened.

It was a prayer. “Nouzòt Popá, ki dan syèl-la,” the voice muttered, “Tokin nom, li sinkifyè, N'ap spéré pou to rwayomm arivé, é n'a fé ça t'olé dan syèl; paréy si la tèujr Donné-nou jordi dipin tou yé jou, é pardon nouzòt péshé paréy nou pardon lê moun ki fé nouzòt sikombé tentasyon-la, Mé délivré nou depi mal. Amen.”

The creature couldn't help himself. He began to smile with fascination. “Bonswa, ami,” he called gently.

The man froze in his approach. “Bonjou?” he said.

Sam took a deep breath. “Who are you?”

“I'm...you called me ami. I am. I'm a friend of Sam Winchester.”

He was certain his heartbeat was loud enough to shake the stone around them now. “I don't know any Win-Winchester. And although I'm called Sam, I don't have friends. So you must be mistaken. Look somewhere else.”

“I'm called Castiel, Sam. And I'm here to help you.”

The creature could hear the man creeping along again, trying to determine his location in the blackness. But he did as all humans did, and he looked down and around. Humans never thought to look up.

Sam alone knew of the ridges at the height of the deep catacombs, and that was just as well, since no one but he would survive trying to climb among them. He had spent endless hours reinforcing this stonework, and he knew every crack and handhold. Dean had amused himself by calling them the catwalks of the catacombs, and for Sam, that was what they were. Anyone else would likely break his neck in the attempt to scale the stone and use the ridgeways as perches from which to look below.

So it took only moments for him to find himself directly above the trespasser. His eyes watched this Castiel, as he moved quietly through the maze of stone and saints below him.

“Sam? I have someone who very much wants to help you, to get you the things you need. So you can live a normal life with other boys your age.”

It fascinated Sam that this man was able to approach at all, and he couldn't help stalking closer. His voice echoed well enough that his location was imperceptible. “Who are you?” he asked again, with awe dripping from his voice. “You are afraid. I know you're afraid. You were reciting Our Father, praying for Him to deliver you. You're afraid. But you do not flee from me.”

“From you? No, Sam. This is a horrible place for a kid to live. I admit to being uneasy in this place. But I'm not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Sam responded frankly. “Everyone is.”

“No, Sam. You live in a tomb. That's what makes everyone afraid. That's all. And I'd love to bring you out into the fresh air. Wouldn't you like that?”

Sam was practically on top of the man, creeping along the ridges on all fours. He stared at Castiel. Whoever he was, whatever he came to do, Sam could not deny his intoxicating features. He was handsome, in the sort of way that made Sam think he wasn't aware or didn't care. He smelled like soap, and peppermint didn't quite mask the coffee scent. Sam loved the smell of coffee. He missed it. The only time he got the chance to smell it was when Dean carried one down. That was rare, and it made this mysterious man seem all the more exotic. His cheekbones were prominent, his hair dark and expression focused. He was shorter than Dean, a little bit slighter, perhaps, but Sam judged by his movements that he was likely quite strong.

“Sam? Where are you?” Frustration was beginning to show in the deep voice, and he began fumbling with something in his coat.

Sam realized too late what it was the man held. The light seared through his eyes, blinding him completely and painfully. He cried out, lost his balance, and he landed in a heap at the feet of Castiel.

Castiel stared at him, the light relentless in its reveal. “My God,” he swore.

The creature scrambled to his feet and stepped back, slamming into the wall, searching blindly for Castiel's face from nearly five inches above it.

But then the man did something very strange. He moved the light away from Sam, and shined it on the walls around them. “My God,” he breathed, and this time there was no horror in his voice like before.

Sam struggled to focus on Castiel's face, and at last, he realized what he was seeing. “What?” he whispered hoarsely. “What do you…?” Hope burned in his chest, just as his fear dissolved into humiliation.

“My God,” he said a third time. “Did you do this?”

He forced his eyes from Castiel's blue eyes to follow their gaze. “Yes,” he said. His entire body trembled badly, and he wanted to climb or run or sink to the floor.

Castiel stared in awe at the walls, moving his light about to take in more. “This is incredible. I've never seen…” He looked back at Sam with wide eyes.

Sam swallowed hard. There was no fear coming from this man anymore. No fear, and no aggression. Sam smelled and felt only fascination, only...only admiration! His trembling intensified under the scrutiny.

Surrounded by the stone walls covered everywhere in intricate murals of the lives of the saints and the blessings of Heaven, of angels besting demons with swords and the grace of their God, of prayers turned into visions, Castiel gave a great sigh, and smiled. “You're extremely gifted, Sam Winchester,” he breathed out.

The creature let his lips part on their own, and he stared in disbelief at a man who could look at him, then look at his work, and think he had a gift instead of a curse. Sam had always suspected that storybooks got it wrong, but now he understood. Apparently there was such a thing as love at first sighting.

***

Roman had left in a huff twenty minutes ago. But Eve didn't care. She barely noticed, in fact. One look at the man before her was enough to change her mind about getting rid of Dean Winchester.

“I told you, bitch. My name’s Esmer. Jack Esmer. You can ask anybody. Whoever you think I am...”

She watched with amusement as he continued to ramble. It didn't make any difference what he called himself. For all she knew, perhaps Papa Winchester had brainwashed this poor pretty boy into thinking Esmer was his real name. But there was no doubt. This was Dean.

Jehan Uriel shifted his weight, glancing sidelong at her bottle of wine of the table. “Castiel thinks I called the cops. He doesn't know you told me to bring him to you to get information from him. But my partner isn't stupid. Whatever we're gonna do, let's do it now.”

She blinked, then cleared her throat. Staring at this man was making her lose her focus, and that shocked her. Eve never lost focus. Never. She was an artist, the most brutal and intense artist alive today. Nothing mattered but the art. So why was she suddenly thrown out of her disciplined headspace out of desire for this common thief?

“Where is your partner, buddy?” Dean was demanding. “What's he doing? You know my boys will find him. They'll rip him apart!”

“I don't think so,” Uriel argued, still looking at the wine bottle as though it were the most interesting thing in the room. “That cat has nine lives. He's gonna be just fine.”

“Esmer,” Eve purred suddenly. “You say you aren't the man we're looking for. If that's so, perhaps you'll help me. Eat with me tonight. We can talk. I can...offer you a reward for your trouble…”

Dean frowned sharply. “I'll pass, bitch. Let me up, and let me out.”

Eve’s eyes flashed with anger. “You're rejecting me?” she demanded.

He smirked at her. “Guess so, beautiful. I don't date bitches who look like they sharpen their claws at night. Not my type.”

She glared. “You're making a mistake, Esmer. I own you. You're a bottom-feeder in this city. No one will even notice you're gone. Just like nobody noticed your drunk, stupid daddy was gone.”

Dean slammed against his bonds in the chair, and she drew in her breath as she watched his bare chest and arms strain to break free. “Don't talk about my daddy,” he growled with a fearlessness and a madness that only made him more attractive.

Eve reached out and ran a finger along his jaw. “I thought you weren't John Winchester’s son,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “Bite me,” he spat.

A twinge of interest warmed her inside. She lowered herself to place her hands on her thighs and stare into that green glare. “I just might,” she said, almost to herself. “I just might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is The Lord's Prayer in French Creole, spoken in and around New Orleans. Castiel is a native, and though he speaks mostly English, a lot of his religious education is a mishmash of Catholic and Louisiana Voudon.


	7. Mon ami

Castiel felt as though he were in some sort of hallucination. He felt the shift, from quiet terror to warmth and hope. He smiled. “It's you,” he murmured. 

The creature shook its head. “What? What's me?”

“Somehow you are projecting your emotion. It affects me…”

Sam nodded. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to. Not usually. I can't control it.”

Castiel stared at the murals on the walls in fascination. “You have an abundance of emotion, Sam. It's no wonder you can't keep it all to yourself.” Then he glanced back to see that the man was squinting in a cringe. Realization claimed him. “The light hurts your eyes. That's why-I'm sorry.” He hurried to lower the setting on his torch. 

Gratitude shone in the man’s smile now. Castiel was sorry to not be able to see the artwork as well, but it was worth it to see the relief in those eyes. “You're kind,” he murmured. 

He wondered if anyone had ever been truly kind to this boy. “You are Sam Winchester, aren't you?” 

He liked his lips. “I'm Sam,” he replied carefully. “I don't have any name other than that. One doesn't have a family name when he has no family.”

Castiel frowned. “But you have family, don't you? A brother. A father.”

Sam shook his head. “Look at me, Castiel. If I had family once, do you imagine they would be able to stand to look at me? I'm alone. And that's as it should be. It would take a truly selfless martyr to remain in my presence. I'm wicked, you know. You can feel it. It's why you say the Lord’s Prayer. To deliver you from evil. To deliver you from me.”

The hunter shook his head. “Sam, I felt your fear. That's all. I don't know how you project your emotion, but it must be some sort of inherent defense. I imagine it keeps most from approaching you. But you don't need to be afraid with me. I'm here to take you somewhere safe.”

“There's nowhere that's safe from me.”

The twist of his words made his heart ache. Certainly the outward appearance of this young man was monstrous. But nothing which spoke so softly and painted such resplendent, devout images, of the saints and Angels, could possibly be a monster. “Sam, there's a woman. Eve. She asked me to find you-”

“Eve?” he interrupted abruptly. “Not...not Eve Frollo!”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Elation played on Sam’s face, and for the first time, he looked not only human, but childlike. “The elf queen! She-she remembers me?”

A bone-deep relief settled into Castiel. So the woman did know him. There was no sinister motive in her search for Sam. Castiel had not realized how much that possibility had weighed on him. He was used to tracking men like John. But Eve’s purpose was clear. She wasn't looking for a criminal. She was looking for a boy who had been lost. “Yes. A friend of your mother's.”

“My mother?” Sam stepped back away from him. “My mother is dead. She was dead long before I met Ms. Frollo. Years before.”

Castiel watched him as well as he could in the dim light. “You're mistaken…”

Sam shook his head. “Forgive me, ami, but you're mistaken. Ms. Frollo didn't know me until I was a boy. We met just once, at Carnival. She...she saved me from the jesters, and she told me...How do you know her?”

He took a deep breath. “I don't,” he growled. “Not well enough, it seems. You're certain she isn't a friend of-”

The eyes lowered and slid off to the side in shame. “My mother died when I was a baby. I killed her.”

“You? How could you have killed her?”

The emotion was pulsing from the creature, and it made Castiel sway uneasily on his feet. “It was an accident,” he whispered. “I pushed my fear onto her, and she couldn't escape it. Or-or she wouldn't escape it, not without abandoning me. And I made her mad with it. And one day, I was cold. I like the cold. It's best for me, the cold and the dark. But she felt it, and…”

Castiel's lips parted in horror. “She set the fire herself.”

He nodded. “My father felt it too, but my mother was the one exposed to me at all times. My fear, what would be natural separation anxiety for any other child, kept her chained to me at all times. She couldn't escape it. So when my chill took her over, the madness I had cultivated in her told her to build a fire against the cold. My father burst into my nursery, handed me to my brother, and told him to run, as fast as he could. He stayed behind to save my mother, but it was too late. I killed my mother, Castiel. My brother would never say so, but my father drank at times, and from the stories he told me, I pieced it together easily enough, and my brother confirmed the most important details. Neither of them wanted me to know. But you see, Ms. Frollo couldn't have known my mother. When we met, she showed kind interest in me, but she did not know me. So you must have misunderstood.”

The hunter took a deep breath and nodded thoughtfully. “I see now that I certainly have,” he murmured. He came to a decision and looked up at the large youth. “Sam? I would like to sit and talk with you. Can we do that? I promise I won't tell anyone what you tell me. But there are things I need to understand better if I am to help you.”

Sam smiled shyly, and his eyes shone with a pleased scarlet instead of the dark, fearful currant. “I would like that very much. I've never had a friend before.”

His own eyes softened, and he returned the smile. “Well, now you have.”


	8. Show of Strength

“What do you want with my brother?” Dean growled.

Eve smiled at him in a beautiful snarl. “I just want to be his friend, dear. Do you know what friendship is?”

“I know what my brother and I are to each other. That kid is everything to me. Since day one, we've been two souls tangled together, looking out for each other. Two fingers on one hand. I won't let you hurt him.”

“That's lovely poetry, Dean. Perhaps I'm not the only artist in the room.”

He rolled his eyes, then glared darkly. “I'm just telling you why I'm going to kill you if you touch him.”

Eve shrugged. “I doubt you'll have the opportunity. Unless…” She glanced back at him slyly. Her fingers caressed his cheek in a way that made him want to bite her. “I'll tell you the truth, shall I? Your brother fascinates me. He's an exquisite grotesque. And I am an artist of the highest level. I paint God’s mistakes, you see. It's my calling. I've traveled the world over to find monsters. In some cases, I've made my own monsters. You can do incredible things with scar tissue; did you know that?” she purred.

Dean felt his stomach churning. “You are one sick pup.”

“Am I? Well, in any case, years ago, I saw the sweetest little grotesque in the world, God’s most perfect mistake. I imagine by now he's grown even more monstrous. I've an entire collection devoted to that boy, but I've dedicated a small fortune to finding him again. Your brother has been like my own son these past many years. I've missed him terribly.”

He shook his head in disgust. “You leave my brother alone. You hurt him, I swear to God I'll kill you.”

“Hm. Mothers are often fondest of the child which has brought them the most pain. So I can't even bring myself to be angry at the boy for hiding so well for so long. But then I found a clue. The story of John and Mary Winchester, with little Dean and baby Sam.”

Dean flinched as she moved to touch him again. “You know nothing about my mother and father.”

“I know that finding your father would lead me to his sons. And when I began to close in on his location, I know he ran and abandoned you both.”

“You're a witch. A maniac!”

She tsked at him softly. “You call me a maniac. But your brother called me a queen.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Well, there's proof that he can be a genius and not understand anything.”

Eve sighed and stood back from Dean’s chair. “I came for your brother, Dean. But now that I've seen you...I live for monsters. I know one when I see one. And I look into that handsome face, and I see something dark and brooding, and I can't help wanting it. I would forsake my art for a darkness like yours, Dean. A face and a body like yours. I'll call off Jehan and Roman if you'll just give yourself over.”

Dean’s mind swam with the horror of the proposition. Give himself over to this bitch? Be...what? Her lover? Her dinner? What the hell did she even want from him?

“Do not reject my offer, Dean. I'm a very powerful woman.”

Sam had always been safe before, he reminded himself. And this woman didn't intend to kill him. Just paint him. That bought him some time to figure this situation out, even if one of her thugs did manage to reach Sam.

“I'm waiting, Dean. Love me and you'll be freed. Reject me and I'll leave you in your ropes.” She approached him again, and put her hand on his shoulder.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I'm a street rat, but I ain't climbing into the nest of some shrew. My answer stands. Bite me.”

Her nails dug like claws into his shoulder, causing him to cry out involuntarily. “You see my dilemma, Dean,” she spat at him. “When you get an idea into your head, you begin to find it in everything. I've spent years seeing your brother in every monster I found. He has been my obsession. But you could usurp him in my mind.”

“Lady, I don't know what kind of crack you've been smoking. But you're vacillating between hurting my brother and fucking me, and I'm just gonna have to stop you right there. Because I'm not going to change my mind on either count.”

Eve’s eyes flashed with barely controlled temper. “You mock me. But I'll have what I want one way or another. And if you think I can't visit a world of pain upon your brother, or you, you're sorely mistaken. You're in the hands of a woman now, Esmer.”

***

Castiel was shivering slightly. Sam frowned. “You're cold.”

He smiled dryly. “Yes. Well, the blame rests in my old coat, which abandoned me in the depth of winter, on the pretext that it was falling to tatters. This new one...It simply doesn't have the same worth, though I'm grateful for its effort. It's quite cold down here, Sam.”

The creature stared in awe at his friend. It was no wonder that Castiel could look at him and see a man when he personified even his outerwear. “Castiel? I'm sorry I frightened you before.”

“It's all right, Sam. I shouldn't have run from you.”

He shrugged. “It's all right. And you shouldn't worry so much about me. There are advantages to being fully human or fully monster. I would hate to be half both. There are others who have it worse.”

Castiel was watching him.

Sam swallowed hard. “Have I said something wrong? I-I haven't spoken to anyone other than family for years. My people skills are...rusty.”

“It's all right. You haven't said anything wrong. I just find myself wondering how it is that you came to be as you are.”

“I don't know. I have done a great deal of research. I recently found that I identify strongly with Asterios, the-”

“The Minotaur?” Castiel breathed.

Sam nodded. “You know of him.”

“I would be an even worse poet if I hadn't read the classics, Sam.”

His eyes lit up then. “Poet? Are you?”

“A very poor one. I hunt people for clients because...Well, nothing makes a man so adventurous as an empty pocket. Or in my partner’s case, an empty bottle. I had the misfortune to grow up in a city filled to the brim with talent, with no need for me. So I do what I do now, and I dabble in my free time.”

“Oh, please,” Sam whispered. “You must let me read your work!”

Pleasure beamed from Castiel's eyes then. “I will, Sam. But now...now we must figure out what to do with you. Tell me more about Asterios.”

Sam looked down at the stones beneath them. “Would it explain my affinity for my catacomb labyrinth? But it does not explain my skin. I've no more fur than I should have. What am I?”

“I think you're a boy who has a deformity, Sam,” he sighed, though he was not unkind in his saying of it. “I think you've been called a monster, and you've believed it.”

“Eve Frollo told me…” Sam took a deep breath. “She said that outward appearance represents the state of one's soul. That I'm horrible because I'm wicked. She was the only one who ever said the truth.”

Castiel looked mortified. “She said that? To a child?”

“Not a child, Castiel. A monster. A grotesque. You know who my father was. He tried to tell me it didn't reflect who I was inside. But he was afraid of me. If I were truly good, there would be nothing to fear. I might disgust people, but I wouldn't frighten them. If I'm simply deformed, account then, please, ami, for the way no one can approach me.”

“I approached you.”

“You are one of three who has ever been able to do so.”

Castiel shook his head. He put his hand in his hair. “Sam, I don't know what you are. But I know you aren't wicked. And I also know I can't take you to Eve Frollo. She's the one who is wicked, Sam.”

Sam felt as though a part of him was breaking inside. “I've always thought of her as genuine. As my savior.”

“She is a very bad person, Sam. But you know...Sam, when I said I was curious as to how you came to be as you are, I didn't really mean your appearance and bone structure. I was referring to your kind nature.”

Sam stared breathlessly.

“You're not one who feels sorry for himself. I can see that. And you feel empathy. You project your feelings; I can feel that you're a good…”

He frowned as Castiel stopped abruptly. “What is it?”

A deep voice rang out loudly, echoing down the corridors. There was a sound like a bottle breaking. “Oh, Sam? Come out, come out, you little freak!”

Sam turned to Castiel in worry. “Who-”

“I'm here to take you to the one you belong to, the only psycho bitch who could ever want you. She's bought and paid for you, freak.”

Castiel's voice was full of loathing. “Jehan Uriel,” he snarled under his breath. “You knew all along that woman was evil.” He stood and called down the corridors. “You will not take Sam Winchester. I won't let you.”

Sam felt a warmth fill him. This honorable man was trying to protect him. He stepped forward to place himself between the incoming threat and his new friend. “Come, Jehan Uriel,” he said calmly. “But know that this is my sanctuary. If you attack me here, I will fight. I will fight, and you will be killed. My home, my sanctuary, my element. You have no chance here. And I will not allow you to take me outside my sanctuary. Not ever. So come if you like. But only if you are prepared to die here. You will not be able to hurt me. Or my friend.”

“We’ll see about that,” the man shouted. “We've already got your brother, and we will take him apart piece by piece. Right after I deliver you!” Then he barreled forward from the pitch darkness, and lunged.

***

Castiel pulled his gun, but did not fire. He could not trust a miss not to ricochet and hit Sam or himself. Instead, he hesitated. He suspected Jehan’s inebriation numbed him from the fear aura Sam emitted.

To his right, he felt Sam moving, heard him speak with eerie calm about killing Castiel's partner. He heard Jehan issue a challenge.

Then the enormous figure next to him shifted, and Castiel was witness to something he could only have dreamt before.

Sam’s body pulsed with red sheen, and from his back emerged huge, terrifying wings. They were bare of feathers, all bone and taut skin and claws, black red and horrible. He loosed a controlled scream that threw both Jehan and Castiel to the stone with its force. Then a tail like that of a scorpion became visible, looming over the drunk hunter.

Jehan Uriel shrieked in terror. He scrambled backward. “What the hell are you? You evil freak!”

“I'm evil,” Sam muttered, almost to himself. “I'm a freak. But you're just a very bad man.” He lifted Jehan and tossed him against the wall like a rag doll.

“Sam!” Castiel cried out.

But Sam’s eyes were shining with quiet fury now. His wings spread above his head, the most frightening thing Castiel had ever seen.

“No!” Jehan shouted. “No!”

Sam shook his head. “Go on. Ask me for mercy, when you would grant me none. Ask me for your life, after you taunted me with my brother's. Ask me to give you sanctuary, since you've defiled mine.”

“Sam?” Castiel whispered.

He couldn't see much in the dim light, but he could feel Sam stop. Red eyes turned on him for a long minute. Then they gazed back at his would-be kidnapper. “You have just a single hope, and that is telling me where my brother is. If you will not, I will end you right now.”

“I'll-I'll tell you! I'll tell you!”

Sam nodded. “Fine. Then you're going to show me how to get there so that I can rescue my brother.”

Jehan nodded. “Yeah! Okay!”

Sam’s wings lowered a little. “Good choice.”


	9. Mercy

The last time Dean had seen Sam in full daylight, he had stared into the boy’s eyes as if they were saying goodbye. He couldn't remember how old they had each been. And Sam had not been able to meet his gaze.

“I'm doing this to you,” the boy had choked out. “What are you losing because of me?”

Everything, Dean had not responded. Everything he could ever have been. Everything he could ever have had. And it was all worth it if Sam was safe. It was all that mattered. Finding a sanctuary for his brother was all that would ever matter.

So he had smiled as well as he could. “Nothing, dummy. You think I like school? It sucks.”

Sam had shaken his head. “I'd give anything to go to school. Anything in the world.”

It had torn Dean's heart in two. “Yeah, well, you haven't got nothing. So that don't say much.” He had finished packing in silence. He had taken out his baseball and glove, and set it aside so he had room in his bag to pack his school books for Sam. He could remember, all these years later, staring at that glove and wanting it so badly, knowing there was no chance of him getting another. But Sam would have given anything to have those dreaded school books, yet Sam had nothing to give. Dean did. So he gave it up and made room for the books. Who knew when he would be able to get him more? And Dad had clearly said just one backpack each. He zipped the bag tight around the books and his jeans and the few other things which fit, and shoved his photos of Mom into his back pocket.

It had been years since he had seen his brother in the light, and that last time had been spent with tears rolling down the boy’s face, and Dean trying to hold his heart together with a backpack zipper.

So when there came the great crash behind Eve, through the window of the estate’s great room, Dean sucked in his breath sharply. He could do nothing but stare.

The shattered glass from the enormous stained glass bay windows sliced through the air and landed all over the floor and furniture. An enormous figure loomed over them, and Eve screamed in terror. Dean might have enjoyed it, if he weren't filled with the same emotion. A dark red creature slammed down from his perch next to the piano. Horrible wings splayed out in a pose that made Dean tremble. The ram-like horns were terrifying, and the tail was like a whip which ended with a sharp barb that looked lethal.

He began to shake his head, and suddenly, he could feel choking tears in his throat.

“Sammy,” he moaned in desperate grief.

The red eyes shone with rage when they turned to him. They were Sam's eyes, no doubt. The same guilt and humiliation hid in the anger.

Dean knew in an instant Sam had never wanted him to see this. “Sammy,” he breathed again.

Eve was backing into a corner of the room. “I'm your patron!” she shrieked. “Don't you hurt me!”

Sam stalked straight for Dean. He cut through the ropes tying him to the chair in a controlled slice from what looked like a retractable claw. “Go,” he murmured.

Dean stumbled to his feet, but he stared up at his brother.

Then Sam frowned sharply. “You've been hurt.”

“Of course I've been hurt!” he snapped, surprising himself with his own voice. “Did you think they were gonna take me without a fight?”

“You've been hurt,” he said again, but this time, he said it into Eve’s eyes. “You hurt him.”

She glowered at him. “He wouldn't give me what I wanted.”

Sam took two very slow steps toward her, and Dean could see her trying to back into the wall harder. He could only imagine how horrible it was to experience Sam's fear aura at his angriest, while not being able to escape it.

A hand grabbed his arm. “Dean? Dean Winchester. You've got to come with me now.”

He glanced at Castiel. “What? Get off me!”

“Dean, there isn't much time to explain. Your brother told me to get you clear from here as fast as I could.”

“I ain't leaving without my brother!” he roared.

Rage crackled like electricity in the air, and Sam's wings fanned out like a nightmare. He took one last step toward Eve. When he spoke, it was with a scream that was so inhuman that Dean could not recognize it as his brother's voice at all. “You hurt him!”

The scream slammed Eve into the wall. “No!” she wept. “No, I just-I'm an artist!”

“You're a villain,” Sam corrected. “You made me believe you!” And tears ran red down his cheeks, splashing a broad chest. “You made me think…Everything I ever loved! You ran off my father! You defiled my sanctuary. You ruined my illusion of a kind hero from my memories. And…” He pointed back at Dean without taking his feral gaze from Eve’s face. “And you hurt my brother!”

“I didn't-I only meant to-”

Castiel grabbed Dean again. “Dean? We have to go now. Now now! Sam will be fine! I know he will. But my job is to pull you out of this hell, and Sam made me promise not to leave till Dean Winchester is saved. So please. Let's get out of here. Things are about to get very, very bad.”

Dean allowed himself to be led from the room through the newly destroyed windows. But even as he climbed out, he could feel the noose tightening around his neck. “Sammy?” he yelled back.

“You hurt him,” Sam said one last time. “Now you'll see what a thing as wicked as I am can do. You're right. Eve Frollo, you have never seen anything like me. No one has.”

Dean leaned out of Castiel's grasp to watch in horror from beyond the destroyed window frame.

Sam took a deep breath and screamed again, but this time, punishing flames spewed everywhere his voice carried, in a semi-circle around the creature, centered directly at Eve Frollo.

Castiel swore quietly. “Dean? Dean, back up!”

The room caught very quickly, especially the long curtains.

Dean's stomach churned with the memory of the heat, the flames, engulfing the room his mother was in. He backed away with Castiel's guidance. “What is he?” he breathed in awe.

Castiel dragged him back as the room lit around Sam. He swallowed hard. “Dean, your brother is a dragon created by a voodoo curse.”

The older brother nodded slowly. “Yes,” he muttered. “I can see that.”


	10. La Frayeur et la fureur

Castiel watched the fire by the reflection in Dean's eyes. The man was grieving. If Castiel had any true talent as a poet, telling the tale of that look on Dean's face would be his life’s work. “He’ll be all right,” he murmured. 

Dean was quiet. “Yeah. I know.”

He didn't know what to say now. 

But Dean spoke again. “He was my little brother. I didn't care what he looked like.”

“He's still your brother, Dean.”

The man shook his head. “If I didn't know him...I'd be afraid of him.”

“He's defending you. What he's doing now, he's defending his family.”

“Then why do I feel like he's crossed over to something I don't recognize as my family?”

Castiel swallowed hard. “Come on. He told me to have you meet him back at the cathedral.”

“I'm not leaving until I know he's safe,” Dean argued. “If he doesn't come out in a few seconds, I'm going back in. I pulled him out of a fire once. I'll do it again.”

“You'll die! No one could survive that but him.”

Dean continued to watch the flames across the street with growing desperation. “Then I'll die. He's all I've got. He's...he's all that matters.”

Castiel could see the tears streaming unchecked down Dean's face. “You couldn't have saved him from this.”

“No? That bitch offered me a choice. Me or him. And I thought I could say no to both. But rejecting her meant turning him into the monster he's always feared becoming. The one my father knew he'd become, if I didn't save him. I'm just glad my father isn't here to see how bad I failed him.”

The exterior of the manor was becoming unstable, and they could hear sirens in the distance. “Dean? We need to go.”

“Not without my brother.”

In that moment, the creature burst from the burning building. His eyes flashed in fury, his wings and tail jerked in agitation. Castiel's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the righteous rage fuming from the beast. His sharp teeth bared, and he screamed into the night, a sound of feral exaltation and wrath. The force of it blew Castiel and Dean into a stumble. Castiel's teeth were beginning to chatter, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Sam!” Dean cried out. “Sammy, stop!”

The creature whipped his head around, and roared without mercy. 

Castiel fell to his knees and held his hands to his ears. 

But Dean simply took a step toward the creature, unafraid and unashamed of the grief pouring hot down his cheeks. “Sammy, please!”

Sam’s fists flayed open, and his wings spread high across his powerful back and shoulders. He threw back his head and screeched, a sound like a bird of prey tearing across the night. All around them, they could hear screams of terror answering him, people affected by his terrifying aura throughout the city. Lust filled his eyes, and he turned back to the burning manor and hissed another throat full of immense fire at it. 

“Sammy!” Dean shouted then. 

The creature turned to him again, slower this time. His red gaze fell on his brother. A low rumbling growl emitted from his chest now. 

“Sam?” Dean said firmly. “Let it go, little brother.”

When Sam finally spoke, it was with that snarl that did not seem human in the slightest. “I'm not your brother!” he shrieked. “I've never been your brother! I'm a freak! I'm wicked from the inside out. I killed her. I killed her! I loved her, and I killed her! First Mom then Eve!”

The sirens were erupting all over. 

“I'm a monster!”

“You're my brother,” Dean roared back. “And I'm taking you home.”

Sam stared at him in shock. 

Castiel crawled to his feet. “Sam? He's right. You need to hurry. They'll hurt you, Sam.”

“They can't hurt me.”

“You don't know that!” Dean shrieked. “Come on! We’ll hash this all out, but please! Come back home! Stop this-Whatever you're doing!”

Sam’s great chest heaved. Castiel could feel the shift, from Sam's terrifying fury to doubt, fear. “How do I stop?”

Dean closed the gap between them and grabbed Sam's wrist. “Just let go. Let go, brother. Just let it go.”

The creature gasped through his sobs, then nodded. He forced himself to take a deep breath. His eyes flashed with a coral determination. “Cas, help him home. You've proven yourself a good, true friend. Please do this one last thing. Help him home. I'll meet you there. No one can see me with him. They'll hurt him.”

Castiel nodded. “I promise, Sam. Please be careful yourself.”

Sam looked back at the flames behind them. “I will be fine.”

The two men watched as Sam leapt on powerful legs and beat those terrifying wings to take to the air. Castiel stared, then turned to Dean. “Come on.”

Dean gazed after his brother for just another moment as he disappeared into the dark night. Then he took a jagged breath and nodded. He let Castiel support him, and they disappeared themselves, toward the old part of the city.


	11. Catch a frisson

Sam’s feet touched the ground softly, and he landed with grace. He gulped in several long breaths, and tried to calm his panic. 

Practiced discipline was invaluable now. There was something he had told himself for years, something he chanted silently for hours some days, as a meditation, to still his rage and fear. As a child, Sam had not been able to control his fury, even as he could tell how it affected John. So John would grit his teeth and say, “Breathe. Breathe!” Sam had never been certain if John were advising him or himself. Somewhere along the line, after years of dedication to a peaceful mental state, the mantra became “Breathe, hope.” 

Breathe.

Hope. 

Breathe. 

Hope. 

Breathe…

He slipped soundlessly below ground, into his sanctuary. He concentrated his mind on his breathing, and he focused his heart on his most intimate hopes. 

He desperately wanted Dean to still love him somehow. He had hidden his form from his brother as well as he could these past many years. The tail was easy enough to hide, but the wings...He had fashioned a bind to keep them strapped to his back, but it hurt all the time. He pulled the binder tight whenever he could hear Dean or John coming, and it was painful in the extreme every time. But in the dim lighting, his most monstrous assets were successfully hidden from view. 

It was only when he was alone that he flew. He emerged during the blackest nights, those with no moon or hope, to stretch his aching wings and see the city from high above it. 

But now Dean knew, and there was no point in pulling his binder tight now. He let his wings slump behind him, but he left his chin up, as he walked through his beloved catacombs toward his nest. He could hear their voices. 

“How do you know what he is?”

Castiel cleared his throat. The sonorous beauty of his friend’s voice drifted to him as he approached. “When I was a young child, I was alone more than I wasn't,” Castiel began. “I attached to a neighbor, and she practically raised me herself, since no one else seemed interested in doing so. Her name was Missouri Moseley. She sort of seemed to collect stray kids. Kindest woman you've ever met, so long as you didn't put your feet up on the furniture.”

“Missouri?” 

Sam smiled a little at the hint of recognition in Dean's voice. “Dad’s friend,” he whispered. 

Dean turned to him, and looked him over in the dim light. Then he turned to Castiel again. “So?”

“So-so she's a bit of an expert on the supernatural. Voodoo, hoodoo, spirits, the saints. So when Sam found out where you were and went to you, I followed and I made a call on the way. To my old friend.”

Sam dropped his eyes. “And what did she say?”

Castiel snorted softly. “She didn't even say hello.”

***

“Castiel, you tramping around all the time looking for trouble, and you finally found yourself some, haven't you?”

Castiel smiled tightly. “Missouri, I-”

“And not just any trouble. No, you found the dragon. Because if any boy was going to trip and fall over a dragon, I might've known it'd be you, child.”

There was never much point in asking Missouri how she knew things. 

“Mary Winchester struck a deal with the wrong witch, ami, and I've been working with John Winchester to reverse Clea’s curse for many years.”

Castiel sighed. “John’s been trying to save him.”

“Of course he has. Got a fool way of going about it, but he's been searching all that boy’s life for answers.”

“I need any answers you have, moman.”

Missouri heaved a sigh. “You only call me that when you want something, piti.”

“I need something now, Missouri. It's urgent.”

“Well, the boy’s mother was a good-hearted blan fóm, but her husband got some real strange ideas on how to make friends. He took what I understand was a real well-deserved knife to the back by a man who worked with him thieving from people.”

He frowned. “So he is a thief.”

“We, and a good one. Never hurt anybody, but took whatever he could find. So he shorted the wrong partner, and Mary ended up at Clea’s door begging for a bit of magic to save him. The poor girl might've agreed to anything. Not sure what she promised, but she wasn't able to deliver on it. Clea gets real mean when she doesn't get paid for her help.”

***

Dean was shaking his head. “So she cursed my kid brother because she wasn't paid for saving my dad?”

Castiel glanced at Sam, then nodded at the older man. “Yes. And by the time Missouri was able to determine whose magic it was, Clea had been dead three years, killed by another witch called Rowena.” 

“Why a, uh...Why whatever he is?”

The hunter sighed. “In mythology, dragons are hoarders of treasure. I suppose it was meant to be poetic, to punish Mary for holding onto her money and not paying Clea.”

“Benny was right,” Dean muttered. 

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. 

“So Missouri has been working with your father to find a way to disrupt the curse.”

The creature felt his heart pounding. “There isn't a way. Is there?”

“I'm sorry, Sam. Missouri says the only thing she may be able to do is work another spell on top of this one.”

Dean stared at him. “To do what?”

Castiel licked at his lips. “If she works together with a protégé of hers, Camille Thibodeaux, she could weave a transformation into the curse. She finally told John that it is the best that can be done, and he stormed out. That was a few weeks back. She thinks he's…” Castiel shrugged apologetically. “He's never going to accept that he can't have revenge on a dead witch. So rather than accept Missouri’s help in making things better, he's determined to find something that will destroy Clea’s curse completely.”

“He won't ever find that, will he?” Sam murmured. 

Dean shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No, but he’ll never stop looking for it. We're on our own, Sammy. And I say if Missouri can help even a little somehow, I'm game for hearing about it.” He put a hand on Castiel's arm. “Thank you for the help. All of it.”

Castiel nodded. “I'll do whatever I can. I never meant to bring more pain to a good family.”

“What does she think she can do?”

***

Missouri Moseley and her young assistant entered the side door to the cathedral, the back near the hidden stairs down to the catacombs, where the men were waiting. She hugged Castiel and whispered to him fondly. Then she turned to the Winchesters. “Well, Sam and Dean, come on already. I ain’t got all night. Lemme look at you, Sam. Oh, honey.” 

Shame filled the creature down to his deepest level. “The-the man who-He said you wouldn't be afraid of me. Castiel said I wouldn't be able to hurt or frighten you the way-the way I…”

She nodded sadly. Her hand reached way up to touch the red cheek with a tenderness Sam was certain he had never experienced before. “Shh. It's okay, honey. Camille and me, we know our way around a little protective warding. The effect you generally have, it won't hurt us. You poor sweet thing. I catch a frisson, don't you even mind; it's nothing to do with you.”

Sam looked at Dean for strength. “Manźel, you don't know me, and I think-”

“Sammy,” Dean warned. 

But Sam persisted. “I'm a monster,” he breathed. “So you should know before you help me...I may not deserve your help.”

Castiel touched Sam's arm in gentle support. It startled him. No one but his brother ever touched him even for an instant, and now there were two kind strangers with their hands and eyes on him. Even quiet Camille’s smile was intimidating for someone unused to being looked upon at all. It was nearly overwhelming. 

Dean was frowning at him. “You aren't a monster, Sam. You-you can't be. You're my kid brother.” Emotion was choking him, and he shook his head as if to say he couldn't continue. 

The sympathetic smile on Missouri’s face was so sincere that Sam berated himself for ever believing that Eve Frollo had been kind. This was the real thing. He felt it in his heart. “Sam, you've done what you had to in order to survive and protect your family. I know what you've done. I can feel it in your guilt. But I'm not worried about it, no. You, Camille?”

The younger woman shrugged. “Mo fine, mè, we. Mo pè tetay-yé, we. Not him.”

Sam glanced at Castiel for help. 

The man smiled at him. “She's afraid of monsters, not you, Sam.”

The creature stared at these women and shook his head in awe. “How can you look at me and not see...not see evil?”

Dean's eyes closed in pain. 

“Your protective warding guards you from being afraid. But it doesn't make you blind. It doesn't keep you from being disgusted and repelled by the way I appear. I'm a nightmare. An abomination. Why aren't you just repulsed?”

Missouri patted his cheek again. “Boy, I've seen a lot of bad in this world. You aren't. So I'm fixing to help you. Your daddy should've let me do it a long time ago. Mais, honey. Let us do this.”

There was a lot of work involved, but at last, Camille signaled Missouri that she was ready. “Mem malad dromi,” she began, “solè vrè mem. Zozo disang, child.”

Camille nodded, and splashed a sickening red liquid into the mixture in her bowl. 

“Mouri soti, we, gris gris. V chanje.”

Sam felt a burning through his veins. “It's...Something is…” He flinched in pain. “Dean!”

The older man leapt to his side. “What is it? What's going on?” he demanded of the women. 

Missouri put her hand up. “Let it work, Dean, or Sam may not get another chance.”

Shock widened Sam's eyes. “It's...Dean, it's...purifying me!” He was weeping now without meaning to. “Dean, please. I don't care if it kills me. Let me finish this!”

Castiel's hand reached out and held Sam's tight. 

There was pain written over each boy’s face. Sam had a flash of revelation that, paired with the agony, made him drop to his knees. “He feels it,” he hissed. 

His new friend bent to listen. “What?”

“Dean,” he moaned. “It's why-why he's never been...affected by my...my emotions. He feels…”

Dean’s face was flooded with tears. “I've always felt everything you feel, little brother,” he sobbed. “People feel you angry, they get afraid. Not me. I get angry with you. I can't help it. You're my kid brother. I can't stand it.” He turned to the witches to plead. “Please, I can't see him hurting like this. Please just stop what you're doing! I'll pay you but please, just stop hurting him.”

Camille took over the words of power while Missouri reached for Dean. “It's too late, boy. He's already changing.”

Sam threw his head back and screamed in anguish. His wings broke free of his binder, and flared out, nearly knocking Castiel across the floor. 

Dean was shouting through clenched teeth. “Stop! Make it stop!”

“If we stop now, it'll kill him, yeah!” Missouri snapped back. 

Castiel's voice was soothing near his ear. “Sam, you've held back your anger all your life, just as you've held in your wings. Let it out now. This spell, it will purge the worst of it. As your brother told you before...let it go.”

He trusted that voice, and it referenced his brother's wisdom. Even as the pain was beginning to make him blind, he gathered his strength to him. He stared hard at Dean's face. As always, his brother's presence gave him courage. He reached deep inside, and breathed permission to the magic, let it soak into him and dissolve the curse’s most wicked barbs under his skin. Maybe he would never be human. But at last, he swore to himself, he would be no monster. 

His brother's frantic eyes faded from him as he fell unconscious.


	12. Of Men and Monsters

Castiel wanted Missouri to see the paintings. Long after Camille had wished them all good luck and went on her way, Sam still lay very still with his head resting on Dean's lap. Dean had said nothing for nearly an hour. The hunter took his blank stare as permission to escort Missouri down to show her Sam's artwork. 

“Where's your partner, Castiel?” she asked after they had each taken their time exploring the murals. 

Castiel smiled tightly. “Jehan Uriel has come to a tragic end,” he reported. 

“Has he now?”

“Missouri, how can a man as talented and good as Sam Winchester be used as a means of punishing his parents? He was only a baby.”

Missouri watched him in the low light. “Child, you are talking to the wrong witch, no. I know you want answers, but I don't have them. I feel strength and generosity in his soul, Castiel.”

He nodded. “Thank you for helping him. I love you, yeah.”

She beamed at him. “Mais, you starting to sound like a native again.”

“My home is you. No matter where I am.”

Missouri smiled slyly. “Eh, but Sam too, yeah?”

“Oh.” Castiel felt his face heating quickly. “Oh, Moman, I'm not...I just think he's interesting. I mean, I want to learn more about him.”

“He's like you, isn't he, piti?”

He smiled. Missouri always understood. “I've never fit in anywhere, Moman.”

“Take a care, Castiel. He's been shut away all his life. He won't know how to be a friend.”

“Please, Missouri. Tell me the best and worst case scenarios about him waking up?”

She sighed. “Worst case easy. Nothing changes. We put him through it all for nothing.”

“Best?”

“We’ll see, child. I think the worst of it is gone. But we’ll see.” She patted his cheek affectionately. “You're good, good, Castiel. And you don't judge by appearances. You can bring this boy great comfort by being his friend. I suspect he's never had one.”

Castiel laughed quietly. “He wants to hear my terrible poetry, Moman.”

“And maybe he will help you see it isn't terrible.”

He smiled. 

***

When Sam finally opened his eyes, Dean let out a breath of relief. “Hey. You okay, little brother?”

“Am I?” the younger man said hoarsely. 

“I-I don't know. That's why I asked.”

“No, I mean...am I your brother? After everything. After the fire, and Eve and Uriel, and...now that you've seen all of my wickedness. My wings, everything.”

Dean closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Sammy? You're always going to be my family, man. And what you did to them? Everybody's got the right to defend himself and his family. What were we supposed to do? Call the police and say there's a bitch trying to kidnap us because she's obsessed with people who don't look normal? No. I spent some time with Eve Frollo, and the world is better without her. And you and I are safe now, because of what you did. Everything else…Sam, you've never hurt anyone else in your life.”

His brother pushed himself up to sit, then fell back. “I'm dizzy.”

Dean smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe you're off-balance.”

“Why?” Then he tried sitting up again and shook his head. Dean watched as a look of astonishment came over him. “I'm…”

“Don't get too excited. Missouri says there's bound to be some issues.”

The younger man felt his skull, looked at his arms, and then turned to stare at Dean. “I’m a person!”

Dean laughed happily. “You were always a person, dumbass. You just look a little more like me now. No horns. No red skin. No tail.”

“The wings are still there,” he sighed in disappointment. 

“Yeah, but they’re different. Not...like they were. Kind of softer or something. They’re cool, man.”

Sam attempted to stand, and found that he was entirely unsteady. He let out a giddy laugh. “How do you balance without a tail?” he demanded. “I never let you see it, but it was there. It’s been six years or something since I-” He stopped to shake his head again, feeling the absence of the extra weight he had carried all his life. “I feel...small!”

Dean snorted. “You’re never going to be small, dude. You’re still at least six elephants high, and at least as heavy.”

“Shut up.” But the voice was full of delight. “My throat...And my skin! It’s all…”

His brother was nodding. He stood too. “Eyes are still red, man. But they’re more like...You never saw this, I guess, but there are people who are albino, who have these pink eyes. It’s just like that.”

Desperate hope filled Sam’s face. “There are people? Who have eyes like me? Who have anything like me?”

Heartache filled Dean, and he had to push it away to respond. “Yeah, man. Yeah, minus the wings, there’s nothing about you that’s not...just like anybody else. But, Sammy, I know this means a lot to you, but you also need to remember...You were never a monster to me. You know that. Right? This is important; hell, this is huge! But it don’t change nothing between you and me. You’re still my kid brother. We were always family.”

Tears were streaming down Sam’s face, and before he knew it, he was engulfed in a powerful hug. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized how long it had been since Sam had let him touch him. How long had Sam felt like he needed to hide his wings, his tail, his self? It broke his heart.

“You feeling okay with the light up here?”

Sam sniffed and stepped back awkwardly. “Yeah. It’s a little bright, but it isn’t as bad as it was before.”

Dean nodded. He had hoped that was the case. “So, if we got you a coat that you can shove those wings under, you could...you know...go topside sometimes.”

Excitement and fear battled for dominance on Sam’s face. He licked at his lips nervously. “Soon,” he said at last. “Not...not yet. Is that okay?”

“Of course, man. Whenever you’re ready.” He took a deep breath. “And there’s something else you gotta know.”

“Yeah?”

“Missouri says that when you sleep...when you sleep, you’re going to revert back to what you-to what you looked like before. There’s nothing she can do about that. It’s like...I guess it’s like the spell sleeps with you, and the curse isn’t disrupted anymore. I don’t know. As soon as you wake up, you’ll be back to this. But you needed to know.”

Sam nodded very slowly. “I don’t sleep much anyway,” he sighed.

Dean watched him.

“This is more than I ever hoped for. I researched every monster…” Sam looked up, and cleared his throat. “Every creature,” he corrected. “And I never found one like me. Every so often, I wanted you to think I was on to something, because I thought it might give you some hope. Maybe you wouldn’t give up on me.”

Realization came to him then. He sighed. “That’s why the minotaur…”

“I just thought that if I pretended as though I was able to find something like me, that it would give you some hope that one day we would be able to fix it, and...and maybe you would feel like it wasn’t going to be forever. Sometimes, like with the minotaur, I even almost convinced myself there were similarities. I just wanted so badly to have something, even another monster, to relate to.” His eyes welled with tears again. “I’m so sorry. I lied to you.”

“I know why you did. But, Sam, it was never a matter of giving up on you, okay?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Dean.” Then he looked around them. “Is...is Castiel still…”

His brother smirked. “He’s below, showing off your murals like it’s a damn museum. I’m worried about him being a little like Eve, like he’s bought himself a ticket to a freak show.”

Sam cringed, and Dean regretted his words, but he knew better than to try to correct them. “I don’t think so, Dean. When he first saw me, really saw me, he was frightened, but it dissolved the moment he saw those paintings. He just looked right past my appearance somehow. It was amazing. And he’s been very loyal, very sincere about trying to make up for his part in what happened. I like him.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged. “Okay. I like him too. But be careful, okay?”

His brother stood away from Dean, and extended his wings to examine them. It was surreal, and a little bit beautiful, the way the wings had transformed. Instead of the bony, terrifying wings from before, these were more like one of those Asian flying dragon lizards that Dean had seen in his science book years ago, or one of the south Asian painted bats that looked like moths, from the same book. They were richly chromatic, with various reds all coming together to form an intricate pattern. And as always, Sam was entirely graceful, even as he struggled to find his equilibrium in this new body. 

“You okay?”

The smile on Sam’s face made everything that had happened over the last few days worth it. Dean sighed happily.

***

After Dean and Benny found and disposed of Roman, Dean could rest and think of what the next step would be. Benny could take over John’s troupe. For the first time in his life, Dean realized he had the option of thinking about what he wanted for himself, and it occurred to him that John’s life wasn’t it. But what else would utilize the skills and education learned on the dark streets of New Orleans? 

The opportunity came to him with a friendly smile and a handshake. His response was immediate relief and excitement. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s perfect. I’m in.”

Castiel had grinned at him, nodded, and that was that. Dean was a new man with a new life, just like his little brother.

***

Sam listened for the light steps on the stairs. He no longer lived in the catacombs, but he went there, with actual permission of the church for once. They paid him a meager salary to keep the grounds and catacombs maintained, and to provide extra security, which he did in the night when he could see better. He was grateful every day for this responsibility. He took great pride in his work, and prioritized it above all else. The cathedral’s administrators seemed pleased with his contribution. It was a perfect situation for Sam, who was still more comfortable in the dark, and still uncomfortable around most people. 

Dean still insisted on using the secret entrance, as though he forgot that he was allowed to come in the front door these days. Sam could hear him the moment his foot hit the stone, and he began to smile. “Sammy?”

“I’m here. Is Cas with you?”

“He’s coming. Relax. I didn’t lose him. Come on up.”

Sam laughed as he headed for the stairs. “I didn’t say you’d lost him. I just want to see him, that’s all.”

Dean was rolling his eyes. “Yeah. I bet you do. You gonna hug your big brother or what?”

It was Sam’s pleasure to embrace his hero. “Did you save the world again today?” he teased gently.

The man snorted and shoved him with affection. “We found the girl, yeah.”

Pride beamed in Sam’s soft red eyes. “I’m so glad, Dean. Her family must be grateful.”

“They were. She’s a good kid. It’s good work, Sammy.”

Dean always said that, as though he wanted to keep reminding Sam that he was an honest man now, that he didn’t steal anymore. Sam was surprised to find that Dean even worked with the lawmen now, to find missing children with his partner Castiel. He even used his real name. 

“You coming out to eat with us?” 

But Sam was busy staring behind him at the handsome man who appeared in the doorway. “Cas!” he sighed happily. 

Dean sighed. “Okay. Make it fast. I’m hungry,” he growled, and retreated to the hall above.

Castiel touched Sam’s face gently. “Hey, ami.”

Adoration flushed through Sam all over. “Hi, Castiel. I’ve missed you.”

“Do you need to stay tonight?”

“No. I got it all finished early, so I could come home with you. I’m not even really on duty tonight. I just like to check in every night.”

Castiel smiled fondly. “I know you do. It’s your sanctuary. You take good care of it.” He reached up and kissed Sam’s forehead. “Come on. Let’s feed your brother before he gets grouchy. We’re celebrating a win tonight. There’s a little girl home safe with her family because of me and Dean.” He stopped for a moment. “Sam? This sort of hunting? There’s more poetry to it, you know?”

Sam beamed at him. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Cas, did you ever think our story would get a happy ending?”

“I always hoped so. But characters like us usually don’t. So I’m not going to take it for granted.”

“You guys coming or not?” Dean called.

“Can we go somewhere I can smell the coffee?” Sam asked.

Castiel laughed and entangled his fingers in Sam’s large hand. “Ami, you can go anywhere you want, so long as I can come with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is like a tree: it shoots of itself; it strikes its roots deeply into our whole being, and frequently continues to put forth green leaves over a heart in ruins. And there is this unaccountable circumstance attending it, that the blinder the passion the more tenacious it is. Never is it stronger than when it is most unreasonable.
> 
> ~Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, apologies to Hugo purists. It is meant as a tribute to the classic and the show, and not as a parallel to either. While Sam's resemblance to Quasimodo is obvious, both Dean and Eve have elements of a few of the classic characters, and so do Castiel and others. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments are beautiful things!
> 
> ~Posing


End file.
